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This morning I walked down my garden path
Imagining how I would change it
To open up a bed for new plants
Already blooming in my mind’s eye
Which sounds a perfectly anodyne activity
There’s a garden There’s a path
Why wouldn’t I take my coffee
And wander it in the grey morning.
But five, just five days past
It was knee deep in snow
The hip-high wall completely obscured
By unmelting white in sub-zero air
And the bright green parsley sprouts that I found this morning
A fever dream

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